Three Dates

Guilty Gear belongs to Sammy Studios and Daisuke Ishiwatari

He watches, without a word, as Dizzy and the two men disappear into the fog. If the girl waves one final time, or looks back at all, the gesture is lost in the growing mist. But Chipp still waits, squinting, as if any moment they will come running back to ask for his help.

No one does.

Chipp lets out a frustrated sigh, and turns toward the one remaining person on the riverbank. The assassin seems content to wait in the shadows away from the water, neither rushing after Slayer to finish their encounter, nor slinking away to tend his wounds.

No longer standing, he has slumped to the cobblestone ground and rests his head heavily against the retaining wall. The posture seems casual – more tired than injured – but behind heavy white bangs Venom's eyes are sharp and wary as they study Chipp.

The ninja readjusts the blade to lie flat against his forearm as he limps over to Venom. First taking a few cautious deep breaths, then rotating his torso and shoulder blades, and finally flexing his arms, Chipp mentally assesses his wounds.

Nothing serious beyond a lingering soreness, but no question he'll feel terrible in the morning.

Even several paces away, Chipp can see Venom's eyes gleam with the unnatural brightness of pain, and the older man struggles to keep his expression indifferent with only moderate success. In no mood for Venom's stoicism, Chipp rolls his eyes.

"Dammit, Venom. Next time you pick a fight with some badass immortal, make sure I'm not on a date, yeah?"

Inclining his head in disdain, Venom mutters, "No one asked you to step in."

"Well fuck you," Chipp growls irritably, but he still limps closer to Venom and kneels to inspect his wounds. "Next time I'll just watch you die."

"They aren't serious," Venom snaps, but when Chipp glares back, the assassin looks away. "Do as you wish," he assents.

"Hn."

Chipp has no formal medical training, but experience helps him locate the major injuries. The most visible, Venom's hand, is mangled enough that many of its delicate little bones must be broken. Most obviously, the index and middle fingers are misaligned.

"Hey, Ven'?"

"What is it now?"

"Take these." Chipp pulls out a small plastic container from his pant pocket. The tube clatters a little as he pops off the cap.

"I thought you had stopped dealing drugs," Venom remarks, regarding the container with suspicion.

"Ha. Very funny coming from the fucking assassin," Chipp retorts. "They're painkillers, you prick. Now hold out yer good hand, before I decide not to waste 'em on you."

That Venom manages to bite back his response shows a remarkable level of self-control. Rather than comment, he extends his left hand palm up, submissive except for the steely glare in his eyes.

Chipp considers then taps out a couple of the pills. Over years of use, he has developed a tolerance for the little pills that Anji describes as "obscene," and he suspects his idea of a normal dose might be on the excessive side. Two seems a nice, if low, number.

Once Venom has downed the painkillers, swallowing with only a slight grimace, Chipp carefully takes his right hand and gently raises it between them.

"Now don't move."

Venom's eyes widen in sudden understanding just before Chipp wrenches his fingers with clinical deftness. Chipp has done this action countless times on his own hands and feet and after two sharp cracks, Venom's index and middle finger are correctly positioned.

To Venom's credit, he does not cry out or jerk away. He only grits his teeth and exhales, low and sharp, until the first wave of pain subsides.

"Hurts?"

"I'll assume the painkillers haven't started working yet," Venom says between clenched teeth.

Tending the rest of his injuries is painless in comparison. With makeshift bandages from his own undershirt, Chipp wraps the gashes across Venom's thigh and arm, and although he suspects several of Venom's ribs are broken, only time and painkillers can help those.

Chipp finds himself engrossed in this task, tongue jutting from the side of his mouth as he frowns in concentration. It's almost a disappointment when he leans back to study his handiwork.

"There!"

Whether from the medication or genuine affection, Venom's eyes have softened considerably, and he whispers, "Thank you."

Chipp blinks. "Hey, it's just nice to be on the other end for once. Last time it was you dragging me home, yeah?"

"I remember. But there's no need to 'drag me home.' I can make it to my extraction point without your help."

"No fucking way," Chipp retorts, and he loops his elbow under Venom's arm to haul him to his feet. "I already wasted my time and pills on you. I'll go when I wanna go. When we get closer in, you can do whatever the hell you want, but I ain't letting you fall into the Seine like some kinda chump."

Venom starts to protest, but Chipp's support eases the weight on his damaged leg, and at last he accepts the other's assistance with a sigh. They move at a comfortable pace – slow enough for Venom to keep his balance without too much pain, but fast enough that Chipp does not lose his limited patience.

The assassin gives his companion a sidelong glance, and sees the ninja intent upon the task of picking a path.

"It's been awhile," Venom says in a flat voice.

Chipp nods with a thoughtful frown, "Yeah, 'bout two months now, right?"

"Yes."

Two months since the Neft Dashlari sank back into the sea, and the MK2s with it. Two months since Chipp said goodbye and their paths parted – the tenuous friendship between them no longer necessary.

Venom manages, "It is good to see you again."

Chipp grins, "Back at ya, man."

"Hn," Venom smiles faintly in return. "So how was your date?"

"You saw her: cute, sweet, brave. What more can a guy want?"

"She's not really my type," Venom murmurs wryly.

"Oh right. You ain't into girls," Chipp shrugs. "I forgot."

"It's strange," Venom begins with hesitation. "If I had met you on the street, I would have assumed..." he searches for the right words, but the night mist and painkillers give the world a dreamy quality that makes thinking difficult. "You don't seem like the open minded type," he concludes at last.

"What?" Chipp cocks his head to the side. "About you bein' gay?"

Frowning slightly so that pale strands of hair fall into his eyes, Chipp shrugs, "I dunno. I've seen enough on the streets that I can't really judge someone for something like that. People do what they hafta to survive, so –"

Abruptly Chipp cuts himself off, and with an almost imperceptible shudder changes the subject. "Anyway, have you ever read something called Nanshoku Okagami? "

Rather than press Chipp on his discomfort, Venom answers the non sequitur honestly, "I can't say I have."

"It's a Japanese book, see, and I thought it was all about samurai and fighting and stuff."

"Yes?"

Chipp blushes, "Well, it's all about samurai, but there ain't much fighting, if you catch my drift."

There is a long pause then Venom bursts into laughter. He winces in pain and touches his injured ribs, but even the ache does not dampen his amusement. When he continues to laugh, Chipp breaks into a lopsided grin. His blush deepens until his ears glow pink under translucent skin.

All at once Venom's smile vanishes and his face tightens into pensiveness.

There is a hint of frustration in his voice as he mutters, "If I could stand to be around you for more than five minutes, I think I'd fall in love."

Chipp cannot tell if Venom meant for him to hear that or not, but it does not matter because he has and just like that, everything has gone to hell. After moment of silence, Chipp half stumbles on one of the cobblestones.

"Fuck, man," he says at last, and spares Venom a baleful look. "I don't know if that pisses me off or –"

"Makes you uncomfortable?" Venom finishes blandly.

"Ch'." Chipp stops before unhooking his arm from around Venom flank. He moves away as he mutters, "This is where I dropped my jacket."

Leaning over aggravates the soreness in his chest, but Chipp ignores it as he picks up his jacket – discarded what seems like hours ago. In truth it's mere minutes, but the fabric resting on the ground is already damp. When he slips it on, he feels colder than before.

Venom is still standing there – watching and waiting – and does not speak. They regard each other for a long time. It becomes a sort of competition though neither man can tell who is winning.

Chipp gives in first and says in a single breath, "Truth is I don't got many friends."

He runs a hand through his hair and tries to force the proper words into place. As much as he likes to talk, eloquence is not his strength. At last he manages, "And whatever this is between us, I don't want to fuck it up."

"So a ninja swearing revenge on the Guild for his master's death and then befriending the head of the Guild isn't fucked up?"

"Yeah, but not as fucked up as fucking him," Chipp pauses before muttering an addendum, "Ya fuck head."

Venom's stance becomes rigid and his left hand clenches into a fist. His words come out low and clipped, and anger smolders in his gaze, "Then it's a good thing I can't stand being around you for more than five minutes. Love is a non-issue."

"Yeah, I suppose so," Chipp retorts and crosses his arms.

He thinks about Dizzy. He thinks of how she smiled at him before leaving with Johnny. And whether or not she loves Johnny isn't even the issue – she's still as much Gear as charming girl. He thinks of how sorrow and guilt clouded her eyes as she stood beneath the former Arc de Triomphe.

Cute, sweet, brave and completely unavailable.

He gives Venom a sidelong glance and for the first time realizes he doesn't have the faintest idea what is between them. Chipp likes Venom despite the other man's obnoxious attitude and inability to dress like a sane person. That much Chipp knows.

Chipp also knows that beneath the usual veil of white hair, Venom has elegant features – all high cheekbones, long eyelashes, aristocratic nose and mouth sculpted out of umber skin. Chipp despises pretty boys on principle, but somehow on Venom the beauty seems less insulting.

But appearance isn't really the issue, and Chipp knows it.

His days on the street as a user and dealer seem more someone else's life than his own distant past. Having been clean for so long, the memories have far more lucidity now than the experiences did at the time, and he always remembers his younger self with detachment in addition to contempt.

Even now he cannot consider certain parts of his life; he knows they happened, but he feels no desire to recall them.

He still remembers the aching need for another hit. Not just a need – an all-consuming burn worse than dying – and in those moments of need, he would have done anything for just one more hit.

Sometimes he had.

The words "gay" and "straight" have very little meaning to a druggie kid on the street with no money, no skills and no one who gives a fuck. After Tsuyoshi found him, after he got clean and realized what it meant to live, he swore never to return to that kind of life.

Venom has turned away and begun to limp further down the bank. Staring at the assassin's back, Chipp remembers how it feels to be used – the humiliation great enough to tear him up on the inside but not great enough to make him stop. He wonders if Venom feels the same way, or if he's been a Guild dog so long that it no longer hurts.

Rather than think, Chipp moves, and he easily falls in step with the other man's shuffle. When he lays a hand on Venom's shoulder, the assassin tenses.

"Venom," he says with sudden determination. Venom turns to regard him with wary curiosity. Chipp explains, "I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

He leans in slowly with his eyes open in case Venom decides to summon one of his cue balls to bash in Chipp's head. But the assassin merely regards him with his own suspicious stare – completely still as their mouths come closer together.

As soon as their lips touch, Chipp hesitates, but then Venom winds his good arm around Chipp's back and runs fingertips down his spine. Chipp's eyes slide shut and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

A shuddered gasp of pain blows against Chipp's mouth, but when he tries to pull away, Venom's grip tightens to hold him close. Chipp does his best to avoid aggravating the other's injuries, but it's difficult given their proximity and situation.

Chipp breaks the kiss with frustration. His eyes open and Venom is right there – so unnervingly close – regarding him with an assessing look. Not for the first time in his life, Chipp wonders if he's a complete idiot.

"This is really stupid," Chipp scowls.

Venom arches an eyebrow, "This as in 'us together'?"

Chipp shrugs, "I was thinking this as in 'making out after we just got the shit beaten out of us,' but yeah, that too."

Although he does not release Chipp, Venom snaps, "You really are the most frustrating person I know."

"But I guess you lied about only bein' able to stand me for five minutes," the ninja remarks with a superior smile.

"No," Venom corrects him with his own sharp flash of teeth. "I lied about needing more than five minutes."

All things considered, it is really stupid, but still they come together and pretend that this thing between them is okay and somehow can work.

Venom's hand moves a little lower, and even through his heavy outer coat, Chipp feels the pressure.

His back tingles just above his hips, spine arcing ever so slightly, and he begins to forget exactly why this is so stupid. As his thigh presses against Venom and he brings up a hand to curl into the assassin's hair and scalp, the blade – hair thin and razor sharp – suddenly resting against his throat reminds him.

He does not move or breathe even a little. Whoever snuck up behind him knows anatomy, the blade resting just beneath his jaw on the place where the internal and external carotid arteries come together.

"My Lord," the attacker states, and Chipp feels grateful that at least the man's hand remains steady as he speaks.

Venom pulls back slowly, careful not to jostle Chipp. Once he has disentangled himself, he straightens to his full height, and commands with chill authority, "Release him."

"But Lord Venom –"

"I said release him, Clyne."

The attacker hesitates but then the blade withdraws, and Chipp lashes out with an elbow strike. When the man evades, Chipp leaps away and raises his arms into a defensive stance. A brush of fingertips against the spot where the blade rested reveals neither a cut nor the wet stickiness of blood.

Rather than admire the other man's skill, Chipp takes the moment to assess his opponent. He does not know him, but his appearance is familiar. Several times Chipp has seen this quiet redhead in the Assassin's Guild, and always Chipp's instinct told him to avoid a fight.

Dressed in a three-piece suit of muted grays and reds, Clyne holds what at first looks like a clarinet, but instead of mouthpiece, there extends a thin black blade. He holds the instrument near the bell, and his gaze follows Venom as if Chipp does not warrant attention.

"Lord Venom, I was under the impression that you were investigating Slayer's whereabouts, not dallying with some," gray eyes flicker over Chipp, and the redhead concludes, "rent boy."

Chipp does not bother to free his arm blade from his coat sleeve before throwing himself at Clyne. His speed apparently catches the man by surprise, because he delivers a solid uppercut before the assassin can react.

Clyne catches himself in midair and lands with a graceful back flip. As his feet touch the ground, Chipp materializes above him with a boot heel aimed at the assassin's head. While Clyne manages to block with his clarinet, the sweep of his blade does not connect with Chipp.

The ninja disappears into a shower of leaves, but rather than disorient Clyne, it allows him time to plant his left foot and deliver a solid kick into the swirl. Chipp tumbles back and Clyne gives his instrument a deft spin.

The blade extends to the length of a short sword, and Clyne readjusts his grip. As he rushes forward, Venom stumbles between them, back toward Clyne. From the way he stands, it is obvious that the strain has aggravated his wounds.

"Clyne, I order you to stand down!" At once Clyne stops, weapon instantly by his side, and Venom keeps his eyes locked on Chipp.

"Chipp," he says soft and urgent, but it is a request, not a command.

Chipp stops, but his frame trembles with barely contained fury. Red eyes flick from Venom's face to Clyne's unmoving form then back to Venom. With great effort he lowers his hands, but his breath remains heavy. Even in the dark, Venom can see the tremors coursing through his shoulders and arms like a feral dog itching for the chance to strike.

"Chipp," Venom repeats, and this time it is an apology and a question. He reaches out to reassure the younger man, but a pale hand, perceptible only as a blur, knocks his arm aside.

"Fuck you, man," Chipp's voice has an edge of hysteria beneath the rage. "Don't fucking touch me."

He sweeps his gaze back to Clyne, and seeing Venom's lieutenant motionless, Chipp's eyes narrow.

"Fuck you all," Chipp spits out before he vanishes.

Venom remains rooted in place as Clyne scans the immediate area with his eyes. After a moment of searching, he concludes, "He is no longer nearby. Lord Venom, please return with me to the Guild. It seems the woman in red is on the move again. She has created a number of situations that you may need to correct."

Venom turns to regard one of his highest officers; never has he wanted to kill him quite as much as he does now. Yet Clyne is indispensable to his own power base and to the Guild as a whole. Not to mention with his current injuries, Venom doubts he would survive a death match with the man.

If Clyne senses his master's thoughts, cold gray eyes reveal nothing.

At last Venom nods, "Yes, lead the way."

Clyne offers no assistance and Venom asks for none. The pain returning to his chest and his right leg again bleeding, Venom makes his way back to base.